The Rock that endures

Dear Dad,

I have learned a lot during the past 18 months. More than just subject matter, more than just massive amounts of information to hold in mental closets until needed, I learned to use the tools you gave me, learned to build that which lasts.

We used to hear a story in Sunday School as children about 2 men - a wise man and a foolish man. The wise man built his house on the rock, the foolish man built his house on the sand. The rain and storms came, and the house built on the rock endured, the house built on the sand was destroyed.

Rock endures.

Sand does not.

Interesting point - sand is the part of the rock that is removed in the storm, or to put it differently, it is the part of the rock that could not weather the storm.

Get enough of these miniscule pieces of rock, and we have a nice cushion of sand. A cushion made from the pieces of the rock that was unable to endure.

We need a solid foundation, something we can cling to, something we can depend upon. A rock that will outlast the storms that come our way.

When everything we held so true is taken away, and all that remains is the skeleton we started with, will it be enough? Will we have a base strong enough to maintain when the dust settles and the aftershock of questions start rolling in?

If we build on the sand, enjoying the soft cushion of the pleasures of this life, when the storms come, we lose. Sometimes not all at once, but we lose.

When we build the easy way, we build to fail. It never lasts.

It is hard to build on the rock.

It requires effort, more than we can imagine.

It takes everything we have, every bit of strength, every hope, every dream, and sometimes every breath.

It may take our lives.

But what is built will endure.

The storms are unpredictable, and it is frightening to hear the wind when it attempts to tear us from all we know to be true, but if we cling to the rock you built upon, we are safe.

Like any other structure, we have to maintain, repair and sometimes build again. As long as we hold to the original plan, we will not waiver.

It cost you everything.

It is costing me no less.

I promised you long ago, that I would stand with you and for you. I promised I would be there until the end.

I kept my promise.

I think it was less about me being there for you as it seemed to be more about learning to position myself.

Now I stand, like you, on the rock that endures.

It is good.

A Special Place

It would over simplify things to say there have been a lot of changes.  I think the hardest thing for me to accept is there are no more chances to "fix the broken parts" of our relationship.  We cover the wounds with emotional and psychological bandages until we appear as living mummies, our real features indistinguishable and the bandages that cover us not only keep us from feeling, but they become a bondage also.

Throughout the past year, I have peeled away the bandages, one layer at a time.  The putrid stench of anger and bitterness was revolting, and so many scars were self inflicted by selfishness and pride.  I am speaking in metaphors, obviously there were no bloody wounds and bandages, at least none that could be seen.

It is hard to admit, it feels so cowardly to say that I blamed so many things on my youth.

It was me.

I could say, "You never taught me...or You held me back..." but it would be false.

It was me.

I made the decisions, I did what I wanted to. The pain was mine, the joy was mine.

You know, it has not been so bad.  I am beginning to wonder why I was angry, what happened that I blamed you?  Life is good, it always was.

I can't remember the reasons for the bandages anymore.

Maybe this is what you were teaching - to be who we are, to be who we were created to be, and to be at peace.

During the past year, I came to this virtual place, this blog, and I laughed, I cried, I ranted, until I found myself empty, ready to move on.

The final part of this journey is to take the bandages off, stop trying to heal and protect myself, and move on.

I can do it.

It doesn't mean I stop this.  This blog, this virtual room I have been so comfortable in is a special place.

It is a place of peace, of healing, and a place of hope.

It took a while, and I miss you terribly, but I am really okay.

I am still proud of your service, I have your "cover" and your medals, and other items that made you who you are.  Yes, I said "are" - it is eternal, and who you were is who you are.

I am still sifting through the memories and holding on to some special ones, and sometimes - I still allow myself that time to reflect, I need it.  I have learned it is good to forgive, and to be forgiven.

I come to this place, this special place that is with me everywhere I go - this virtual room of comfort, and I talk to you, about you, and there is peace...there is healing...

This is a long way from the angry path we shared so many years ago.

I am glad I made it here.

Thanks Dad, you did a good job.

An anniversary

You have been gone one year as of yesterday afternoon.

I think about a talk we had before you left when we were talking about eternity.  I told you I would miss you, but you would not miss me.  You looked confused, and I told you that you are going to a place where time exists no more.  Whether it is 1 day, or 100 years from now, when I arrive - it will be like you just got there and turned around, and there I was - right after you.

Eternity is beyond our comprehension.  We try to understand, but in a world of limits we cannot fathom a limitless existence.

Imagine the ocean.  Water as far as you can see.  So much water, it is immeasurable.

The ocean is eternity.

One drop of water is our life, lived to its fullest.

Eternity is incomprehensible.

It was a year ago you shrugged off the limits of this world.

In this ocean of eternity, not even a drop of water has passed.

You will turn, you will blink, and we will be there.

It is just like when we were children.

Dad always went before us, and secured everything.  We had a place to live, schools  and church to attend,  they were expecting us.  Although we were unable to spend a lot of time with our extended families, we always experienced someone waiting for us, someone excited about our arrival.

How much like Jesus this is.

He left before us, to prepare a place, that where he is, we may be also.

Just one more thing to hope for.

In this year without you, we have shed tears, we truly missed you.

But we have hope - hope we did not understand before.

You will turn, you will blink, and we will be there.

Time to say goodbye

It has been a year, and although the activities have always had your shadow overhead, you were not here.

We became "perceived" experts in our ability to diagnose everyone with your illness.  Even those that are not sick.  I guess it is a part of the pendulum of life swinging from one extreme to another.

Sometimes it has been hard to be motivated.  I never felt like I was depressed or sad, but I just could not seem to "get going" with the intensity I once had.

I am more tolerant in some areas, and less in others.

I am beginning to care about me, and my feelings.

I grew up and suffered religious angst when my core, the very being of who I am, did not coincide with the mindless dribble by those learned theologians allowed to be in authority of our faith.  When I questioned, I was always wrong for questioning, and the answers were...never there.

I wish I could say you taught me to question, that you taught me to seek these things out.

Perhaps you did, when your blind acceptance of fallible men's interpretations of the scriptures became your gospel...and I wanted more...I wanted a personal truth.

I wanted more than the social event of Sunday morning, and perhaps another day during the week.

I wanted that faith, that relationship with someone that would never leave.  After all, even at its best, all of life is temporal.

I wanted that rest in my spirit, that peace in my soul, when in the solitude of darkness I can still hear you struggling to breathe...and it stops.

And never starts again.

You taught me a lot, or at least you tried to.  I adhere to your faith, your eternal hope is my eternal hope.  But I want more.

I want the strength to stand when I have done all I can, and all that is left is to trust in the unseen.  I want to "stand in the gap" for those that are suffering in silence, and let them sleep, knowing someone cares.

I want to pass this knowledge to someone else.  Pass this baton to the next runner, as we sit in silence because we have said all there is to say.

I want to be missed one day.

I guess I want the things you achieved.

It has been a long year.  A lot of soul searching and growth, and I am finally seeing a little life from this year of cultivation. I am finally starting to understand.

I am growing up.

Dad, I never wanted to say goodbye, but this cannot go on forever.  It is time to return to my life and carry the memories in my heart, and continue the journey.

Thank you for the tireless efforts of training, teaching, and in the end, yes - I know you loved me.

You were a good man, and I am proud to have been with you through all of this.

I remember wearing your combat boots when I was a child, just a boy "flopping" around in his father's shoes. It was funny, it was entertaining, and you were the giant in all of life.

It took a long time before I could wear those boots, and when I did - it felt right.

Whether it is wingtips, boots, or some other shoe - they are mine now.  No longer a child "flopping" around in Daddy's shoes, but a man...following my own call, my own piper - after all, that is what you taught me to do.

Rest in peace Dad, it's going to be okay.